


The Little Devil

by seor1324333



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, and just edited it some so hopefully things dont read so flat this time around, pls excuse this i wrote it at 4 am and was very out of it towards the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-08
Updated: 2015-06-08
Packaged: 2018-04-03 12:21:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4100722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seor1324333/pseuds/seor1324333
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Takeru, don’t speak with your mouth full. And stop eating those chips, we’re going to be cooking soon.”</p>
<p>Oikawa’s nephew rolls his eyes, mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like ‘Yes, kaasan’, and picks another chip out of the bag. Hajime watches bemusedly as his friend sighs a long-suffering sigh.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Little Devil

**Author's Note:**

> For Day 1 of Iwaoi week. Prompts: domestic, with a hint of "they're perfectly in synch"

“Thanks again for doing this, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says, as he greets his friend by the front door. Hajime waves off the formality, and lifts up the bags he’d been carrying with him.

“I brought some food and dessert, hope that’s okay?”

“Is that Hajime-nii-san?” Takeru calls from inside the house, where he is perched in front of the television screen.

“Yes it is, and come out and greet him like the polite host you’re supposed to be!”

The boy comes shuffling down the hallway, halfway through stuffing a bag of chips into his mouth.

“Welcome, Hajime-nii,” he says, voice muffled in crunching.

“Takeru, don’t speak with your mouth full. And stop eating those chips, we’re going to be cooking soon.”

Oikawa’s nephew rolls his eyes, mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like ‘ _Yes, kaasan_ ’, and picks another chip out of the bag. Hajime watches bemusedly as his friend sighs a long-suffering sigh.

“Will you at least help Iwa-chan with his bags? He was kind enough to go shopping for us.”

“Okay!” Takeru perks up, hurrying forward to reach for the plastic bags. “What did you get us, Iwa-chan?”

Oikawa swats him lightly on the back of the head. “That’s Hajime- _nii-san_  to you, you little rascal.”

“It’s fine,” Hajime chuckles, as Takeru scowls and sticks his tongue out at Oikawa. He bends down to hand over a bag and remove his shoes. “Sorry for the intrusion. Is your sister coming later?”

“Mom’s off running some errands, so she’ll be back late. I wanted to go with her, but she said it would be better if I stayed with Tooru, so now I have to be with him all day.”

“Poor you, huh,” Hajime grins.

“Iwa-chan, make no mistake, I’m the victim here,” Oikawa complains, following behind as the other two boys make their way into the dining room. “The little devil woke me up at  _five am_  today, because apparently he couldn’t find the remote to watch his cartoons.”

“I found the remote, it just wouldn’t work!” Takeru pulls out a stool, clambering up and dropping the shopping bags on the counter.

“That’s because that was the one for the DVD player, it’s the black one that operates the screen.”

“How was I supposed to know that? It’s your fault for having so many remotes just for one TV!”

Oikawa rustles through the bags, picking out frozen packets of noodles, meats, and bundles of vegetables. “And not only that,” he continues, as if the previous conversation had not just occurred, “but get this. It’s five am, the birds aren’t even chirping yet, and this little devil gets hungry and wants  _yakisoba_.”

“Mom always makes me yakisoba for breakfast,” Takeru grumbles.

“No she doesn’t. Your mom doesn’t cook. Or she tries, but you never eat any because you know if you do, chances are you’ll sprout a tail and six claws.”

Hajime shakes his head. “Don’t let nee-san hear you say that.”

Oikawa waves his hand airily. “Oh, she knows. It’s why she never invites me over for dinner anymore, even though I make the perfect dinner guest and conversationalist.”

“All you talk about is volleyball and, ooh,  _Iwa-chan_  this and  _Iwa-chan_  that,” Takeru calls, as he skips past Oikawa’s grasp and jumps onto the couch. “It’s no wonder you can’t keep a girlfriend, if that’s your idea of perfect dinner conversation.”

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says, voice suddenly low and serious, “if we split the ice cream between the two of us instead of three people, how many scoops do you think we can each get?”

“Hey! Not fair!”

Hajime rolls his eyes, but does nothing to hide the grin on his face. “If you’re not going to help with the cooking, then I think I’ll just keep the carton all to myself.”

“That’s a bad idea, Hajime,” Oikawa says, still in his faux serious tone. “If you eat all that ice cream, you’re going to get all heavy and fat and you won’t be able to jump and do spikes anymore, and then what will become of Seijou’s ace?”

“Yeah, yeah. Where do you put your chopping boards?”

The living room returns to a level of quietness, with television noises occasionally humming in the background. Takeru flips through the channels, sneaking glances at the two boys in the kitchen, who are just now setting pots onto the stove and waving knives around in the air. To be precise, Oikawa’s waving the knife in a bout of excited chatter and Iwa-chan has to jump back, face morphing into a scowl. There’s a bit of a scuffle, before Oikawa’s pushed to side where the ingredients are, no longer on cutting duty.

“Here, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says cheerfully, passing over an onion. Hajime places it on the wooden board, twirls the knife in his hand, and presses down quickly and efficiently. He pushes the fragments into an awaiting pot.

“Here, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says brightly, sliding over a tomato. It follows quickly after the onion.

“Here, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says merrily, tossing over a head of lettuce. Hajime catches it, stabs it down with the knife, and strips away the layers. They join the rest of the ingredients in the pot.

“Here, Iwa -”

“You don’t have to say my name every single time,  _Crappy_ kawa.”

“But Iwa-chan, don’t you think it’s like when we’re playing together? I pass you the ball, call your name, and you get it, and score! Only in this case you’re just cutting things up, but it’s the same sentiment, yeah? We’re still in synch, even in the kitchen!”

“You can say that when you do more to help out than hold out vegetables, Bakakawa.” But Hajime feels a slight warmth rising in his cheeks, and he quickly ducks his head to finish chopping up the next batch of ingredients.

“Are you finished yet?” Takeru calls from his seat in the living room.

“We’ve barely started! Things would speed up if you’d come and help.”

The boy crosses his arms, and settles back into the couch.

“Nah, someone needs to keep an eye on you two, in case you cut off a limb or set something on fire.”

“See,” Hajime says, eyebrow quirked in amusement, “even your nephew is more help than you.”

Oikawa slaps his arm. “Don’t enable him, Iwa-chan. He’s spoiled enough as it is.”

“I heard that!”

“Good!”

“I’ll tell Mom you said that I’m spoiled!”

“Good! She’ll probably agree and say that the only person more spoiled than you is her younger brother!”

“She’d be right,” Hajime says, as he turns the stove to boil and starts opening up the other packages. Oikawa’s long since given up the pretense of aiding the culinary process, and is perched on a counter, legs swinging and feet brushing the ground.

“I’m not spoiled, Iwa-chan, I’m just,” he waves a hand in the air, as if trying to pull out words from thin air.

“High-maintenance? A diva? A dork masquerading as the captain of Seijou’s volleyball team?”

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa is all shock and mock offense, “you have the harshest tongue of any person I’ve ever met.”

“Except for me!” Takeru calls.

“Excluding the little devil,” Oikawa concedes.

Hajime rolls his eyes.

“Well if it weren’t for my so-called harsh tongue, you’d never get anything done now, would you? Now get me your soy sauce and vinegar.”

“Hajime-nii,” Takeru says, suddenly appearing at the doorway to the kitchen, “you act like Tooru’s mom sometimes. All that’s missing is an apron and some oven mitts.”

Hajime flushes, as Oikawa chokes down a laugh. He waves a hand at his nephew.

“Takeru, go set the table and leave us adults be. Also, don’t tease Iwa-chan, I’m the only one allowed to do that.”

Takeru grumbles as he’s shooed out of the kitchen by Oikawa. The setter turns around, hands on hip, eyes trained on Hajime as he stirs the pot and bends forward to adjust the stove settings.

“What,” he asks, without turning around. But Oikawa only shakes his head, and sidles in beside him.

“Just thinking that the next time we do this we really do need to get you an apron, Iwa-chan.” His voice is low, with a hint of a smile and barely any trace of teasing.  

“You do that, and I’ll make sure nothing I cook enters your mouth.”

“So mean, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa sighs, and turns around to lean against the counter. He watches his nephew through the window into the living room. Takeru’s hunched up into a ball, his eyes glued on the screen in front of him. He glances towards the kitchen, catches Oikawa’s gaze, and sticks his tongue out. Oikawa pulls down on an eye and sticks his tongue right back.

Hajime shakes his head. “Mature, Oikawa. Real mature.”

Oikawa only smirks.

“Is it ready yet?” Takeru calls impatiently.

“Just a bit, Takeru-kun, we’ve still got to heat things up.”

“Okay, Hajime-nii!”

Oikawa signs wistfully. “How you ever get him to respect you like that, I will never know.”

“I’m sure your nephew respects you, Oikawa. He just doesn’t listen, because, well…”

Oikawa raises an eyebrow. His friend’s waving the stirring spoon vaguely, mouth stuck half-open.

“Because, well?”

Hajime finally looks at him. “Because it’s hard to get along with people who remind you of yourself?”

Oikawa stares. “Iwa-chan… you think I think Takeru is like me?”

Hajime rubs the back of his neck. “At least he reminds me of you when we were his age.” He frowns, suddenly looking as if he’d bitten into something sour. “You know, sweet on the outside but really a little devil underneath all that calculated cuteness and innocent charm? ”

Oikawa is silent for a moment, before he bursts into laughter.

“What, what is it?” Takeru pokes his head up from the back of the couch. Oikawa tries to wave him away as he bounces into the kitchen again. “What’s going on, why are you laughing, Tooru? Did Hajime-nii say something funny?”

“He said - ahaha - Iwa-chan admitted to thinking I was cute! Ouch! Stop hitting me!” Oikawa rubs at his arm, backing away from his friend’s flustered swatting. “I  _mean_ , he only said - Iwa-chan stop threatening me with that spoon - he  _said_ that you’re like me, when I was your age. Pffft.”

Takeru scrunches his nose.

“Are you saying that I’m going to become like you when I grow up? Ugh.”

Oikawa stops moving, backed up against the fridge as he is. He whips his head in his nephew’s direction. “Ugh? What’s that supposed to mean? What’s wrong with becoming like your uncle when you grow up, Takeru-chan?”

“For one, you give everyone such awful nicknames. I’m not a little kid anymore, don’t call me Takeru- _chan_. And how does Hajime-nii stand you calling him  _Iwa-chan Iwa-chan_  after every sentence?”

“That’s because Iwa-chan and I have been friends since even before you were born. Even if he doesn’t like it, it’s a testament to our lifelong bond and partnership.”

“Stop saying cheesy things like that so easily,” Hajime grumbles, turning away from advancing on his friend to return to the stove. He hesitates, while reaching over for the oven mitts. “And I don’t mind it. The nickname.”

“You don’t?”

Oikawa swivels his head. “You don’t?”

Hajime’s careful to keep his back towards the other two boys, as he turns the pot for a likely handhold to grab.

“Yeah. It’s just a nickname right? Plus, it reminds me of how you’ve always called after me, ever since we were kids. It’s been over a decade, and you haven’t changed.”

Takeru watches as Tooru’s eyes widen, ever so slightly, before he plasters a bright smile onto his face when Hajime turns around, pot in hand.

“That’s not true, Iwa-chan! I got a lot more attractive and got a lot more admirers.”

“You mean uncle Tooru got a lot more vain and got some sex appeal?”

Oikawa jumps, waving his hands frantically. “Takeru! Where’d you learn to speak like that? If your mom finds out about this, she’ll think I taught you dirty things, she’ll kill me!”

Takeru rolls his eyes. “I’m not a kid, uncle Tooru. I know about se-”

Oikawa clamps a hand over his nephew’s mouth. He glances over at Hajime, desperation swimming in his eyes.

“Iwa-chan, save me,  _my sister is going to kill me_.”

Hajime chuckles, bring the pot high above the two boys as he maneuvers past them and into the living room.

“You can worry about your sister later, after we’re done eating.” He sets the food down, and brushes off his hands. Takeru skips over, pulling out the chair at the head of the table. Oikawa follows, feet dragging dejectedly.

“You don’t understand, Iwa-chan, nee-san is  _scary_  when mad.”

Takeru nods furiously.

“I know I know,” Hajime pats his setter’s back sympathetically. “Remember once when some older boys tried to bully us into giving them our allowances? They thought because she was a girl she’d want no trouble, and she’d make us give them what they wanted. I think one of them ended up crying in the end, and nee-san told me that the other guy, who went to the same high school as her, avoided her every time they met up in those three years.”

“Mom made a boy cry?”

“Your mom made me cry, many times.” Oikawa shivers, settling down beside his nephew. Hajime seats himself across the table.

“Isn’t that just because you were a crybaby?”

Oikawa frowns. “I was  _not_. And who even told you that?”

He looks up, but Takeru’s suddenly found interest in the ceiling, and his best friend’s already muttered thanks for the meal, and was busy scooping a serving into his bowl.

“ _Iwa-chan_.”

“Yes?”

“What have you been telling my nephew behind my back?”

“Only that-”

“Nothing Takeru-kun. I tell you nothing about your uncle behind his back, right?”

Takeru ducks his face into his own bowl. “Right.”

Oikawa narrows his eyes at the two boys in front of him, but they’re busy slurping down their meals and making pleased sounds. Finally, he sighs, murmurs his own thanks, and picks up the food with his chopsticks.

“Iwa-chan,” he says, voice full and muffled.

“What.”

“This is delicious.”

Hajime flushes. “It’s just, my mom, she just taught it to me, she does it really well so-”

“Hajime-nii can’t take a compliment,” Takeru pipes up. He ducks down as Hajime reaches to ruffle his hair.

“This,” Oikawa says, bringing his bowl up to his mouth, “is possibly the most delicious cooked meal I’ve ever tasted.”

Hajime’s face turns even redder.

“Sh – shut up, Oikawa. They’re just noodles.”

“Yeah Tooru. They’re just noodles.”

Hajime ruffles his hair again. Both he and Takeru look up, as Oikawa downs the contents of his bowl in one gulp. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and leans back, sighing blissfully. Hajime and Takeru’s gazes go over his head.

“Takeru, we should get Iwa-chan to come cook for us more often.”

“Uh, Tooru…”

“Iwa-chan, your mom must be a very skilled cook, to be able to pass on her skills to such a thick-headed son like you.”

“Oikawa…”

“It’s a compliment, Iwa-chan! That meal was so delicious! That was so much better than anything nee-san could make.”

“What was so much better than anything nee-san could make?” A sweet voice asks from behind Oikawa. The setter jumps, knocking his foot on a table leg and making the bowls on the table rattle. He stares desperately at Hajime, who can only offer him a sympathetic look in return.  

“Ne – nee-san,” Oikawa says, turning around slowly. “I didn’t hear you come in?”

Oikawa’s sister, arms crossed and eyebrows raised, looms up behind him, surveying the boys and their finished meals like a queen over her kingdom. She reaches over to her little brother, flicking him on the forehead.

“Never mind that. You were saying about my cooking?”

Oikawa slumps forward miserably, Hajime patting him on the shoulder, as Takeru jumps out of his seat and rushes to hug his mother. The sound of Oikawa Keiko’s booming laughter fills the house, and Oikawa slides down in his seat, knowing he is doomed.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> i dont actually know how cooking works lmao


End file.
